Early this summer I found out I drew an archery tag to hunt mule deer in Nevada. Immediately and simultaneously I was both excited and struck with the realization that I had no idea what I was doing. I'd never really archery hunted mule deer before, just chased them opportunistically while pursuing elk. On top of that, I would be hunting in an area I had never been and would not have time to scout. I wasn't sure how I was going to take the time off work to make it happen, but after staring a hole in my calendar I was able to force a long weekend during the season opener.
I drove to central Nevada the day before the season opened, drove up a "road" I had identified on a map, and scratched the shit out of my truck as I bushwhacked up into the hills. From here I backpacked in a few miles through very dry country, carrying several liters of water. As I steadily gained elevation, the environment gradually transitioned into classic mule deer habitat.
I ended up camping at about 8,000 feet. Above this elevation, the vegetation changes from dense juniper and pine to patches of mahogany and aspen. That first night I sat on a ridge above my camp and glassed the edges of timber. With the weight of water in my pack, I opted not to bring my spotting scope. I immediately regretted this when I spotted a few deer that first evening and was unable to identify if they had antlers (my tag was only good for bucks). As an interesting aside, I found it difficult when glassing to sift through all the feral horses to find the deer. I found multiple herds of around 30 horses, and the ground everywhere was churned up from their passing.
The next morning I went back to my glassing spot. I relocated some of the same deer I found the night before and also found one or two new ones. At this point, I was not optimistic about heading home with meat, so I was happy to attempt a stalk on any legal animal. I decided that one of the deer I saw near a patch of aspens way above me had a good chance of being a small buck, so I spent the late morning and early afternoon of opening day moving closer.
As I eased near the area where I had previously spotted the deer, I saw a flicker of fur as a deer stood up from its bed about 60 yards away and relocated to stay in the shade. A short while later, I saw two more deer do the same - a doe and two small bucks. I tried to convince myself that this was it. I was going to shoot one of these two bucks. I was about half successful.
I eased in closer as the deer were bedded. Over the next hour, I was able to get within about 45 yards and had a couple of shooting lanes. As it was late afternoon, I knew the deer would eventually get up and start feeding. When they did, I would be ready and likely have a shot. After about another hour, the doe stood up and bounded aggressively in a 40-foot circle, stood still for a moment, and ran downhill. One of the bucks stood up a few seconds later, looked around calmly, then ran downhill and out of site. The opportunity I was sure would present itself did not. The other buck vanished without a trace. So much for opening day success. It was at this point I reminded myself of the fortune cookie paper that is taped to my bow case: "You may lose the small ones, but win the big ones."
Back to the big picture. I wanted to find more deer. In the valley I had backpacked into I was only able to locate two small bucks. I was hesitant to travel too far in such dry country where water was difficult to find in order to explore new terrain, and the water I packed in was running out. After much deliberation, I decided to glass from my current location the following morning, and if I didn't find any more deer, would pack out and attempt to drive to the top of the main ridge, where roads and trails were marked on the map. From there I would plan to car camp.
After a couple of dead ends and a few hours of driving around on jeep roads that were more than my bald-tired truck was prepared for, I eventually found myself on top of the main ridge I had been looking up to from my previous camp. I found a suitable spot to car camp and promptly headed out to locate a glassing point. About a mile from my truck, I found a nob on a ridge with good views into the drainage south of the one I had previously been in. I had just sat down with my binoculars and spotting scope when I noticed a small buck run through the meadow beneath me. I ranged him at about 65 yards when he paused briefly, which happened to be during a pretty strong wind gust. If he was still standing there when the wind died, I planned to shoot. Once again, this did not work out as planned.
As dusk rolled around, I started seeing deer. Antlers were clear in my binoculars, and the spotting scope made watching these more mature bucks very exciting. I located a group of two and a group of four bucks, all more nature than anything I had seen thus far. I decided to watch and attempt to pattern the bucks that night as the nearest group was over 600 yards away and a late evening stalk didn't seem reasonable at the time. I also didn't want to spook these bucks that seemed very content and unpressured. My eventual attempt would be calculated and characterized by patience and stealth. At the end of day two, I found the drainage I would hunt for the next two days until my hunt was over and I had to return to work.
The next morning I relocated most of the bucks I saw the night before and found another group of three. I watched the group of three until they bedded in a small patch of mahoganys. After watching them for a while and planning a stalk, I decided they were in a location where I could potentially get within range. I would use a large draw between me and them to get within about 350 yards, relocate the bedded bucks from there, use another large draw to get within about 100 yards, and then hope I could be sneaky enough to get within about 50 yards for a shot. The first part of this went well, and I relocated the bucks from 350 yards, in the same place I had left them. When I got to 100 yards, they were either gone or I was looking at the wrong patch of mahogany. I crept in to where they were bedded, confirmed this was in fact where they were, and sat while I tried to figure out if and how I had spooked them. This whole hunt I had been making it a point to intentionally learn from each experience in attempt to, maybe, just maybe, learn enough to be successful. A few minutes later I heard faint voices from the adjacent drainage.
These bucks were not as unpressured as I thought. I hiked back out of the canyon feeling confident that I did not prematurely blow my stalk. I hoped that today's activity in the drainage wouldn't blow all the bucks out for the next couple days, as I knew I would not likely locate them again with my limited time.
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| Buck Canyon |
The next morning I attempted to find the buck that crossed underneath me two days prior on top of the ridge. I found a doe with two fawns and stalked in on them for practice. I got within 60 yards of the doe. As I ranged the doe, she seemed to hear the slightest sound, sounds I could easily get away with from the same distance when hunting elk. Another lesson learned as I upped my respect for mule deer ears.
When I was done toying with the doe, I made my way back to the other side of the ridge and immediately spotted a buck feeding along the edge of some aspens about 350 yards away. I quickly took my boots off, donned my extra pair of socks, planned a stalk, and tried to intercept the feeding buck. Once again, this failed to work out. When I returned to my pack and boots, I realized I hadn't made it as far as I thought and I was nowhere near my planned interception point.
Back at my glassing point, I spotted what looked like an enormous deer. The deer quickly turned into the first elk I had seen all trip - a raghorn bull. Above the bull I spotted a buck feeding near the top of a small patch of aspens. I was sure this was one of the two bucks I had seen two days earlier. I watched the buck and bull for a while until another bull became visible. I decided to move from my distant perch to one about 350 yards from the aspen patch that seemed to be home to one or two bucks. From this new vantage point, I would be better able to keep tabs on the deer. If it followed the path it did two evenings prior, I had a plan to position myself for a shot.
Once at 350 yards, I could not relocate the deer. I was optimistic that they were still in the same aspen patch so I decided to wait them out. After a late morning thunderstorm, I saw not one, but two bucks get up and feed. I continued to watch them for most of the afternoon as several more thunderstorms rolled through. After each one they would get up and feed. At 3:00 I decided to make my move. If they were going to feed in the middle of the day, I was going to take advantage of it.
I had a large drainage for concealment that, if all went as planned, would get me within shooting range. As I came up the opposite side of the drainage, I gradually got stealthier and stealthier. 100 yards from the top, I took off my pack and boots, put on my extra pair of socks, made sure my face paint was solid, and went into kill mode. I slowly and silently moved toward the mahogany on the ridge top that I carefully marked for my stalk, taking only a couple of steps at a time. About 60 yards from my pack, and at least another 60 to the mahogany, I spotted one of the bucks skylined on the ridge above me, aggressively feeding on a sparse bush that served as the only object separating me from him. I immediately froze, and when I was convinced the buck hadn't seen me, I slowly reached for my range finder. He stared me down after seeing my arm move, so I froze again. When he went back to feeding I continued the process of ranging the deer. After repeating this dance several times, I managed to range the buck at 43 yards at a relatively steep angle above me. As he continued feeding, he turned so that he was quartered away, still behind the bush and head down. I took this opportunity to draw my bow. I settled the 40-yard pin behind his front shoulder, did my best to account for all the angles (quartering away, uphill, etc.), reminded myself not to jerk the release and just shoot like I'm shooting at a target, and released.
I didn't see where my arrow struck, but I heard the sound I wanted to hear - the sound of an arrow piercing the chest cavity of a deer. Upon impact the buck bounded out of site in a single leap. Heart pounding, I did my best not to get too excited as I had not yet recovered the deer. I went back to my pack to put my boots on, regroup, and give the buck a chance to expire. When I left my pack, I was prepared for a multiple hour stalk through at least one thunderstorm. Little did I know I would be returning about 5 minutes later having put an arrow through one of the biggest bucks I had seen the entire trip!
I slowly made my way back to the flagging I placed at my shot location. I walked up the hill to the deer's location at the time of the shot and put a flag there, next to a sage brush covered in bright red blood - lung blood. I looked around to see if the buck had bounded off a ways but was not yet dead. Seeing nothing, I began following the blood trail. After about a 100 yards straight downhill . . .
This sight was immediately followed by an involuntary fist pump with my bow-carrying hand. It was finally time to get excited! I had accomplished what I was beginning feel was impossible! The process of constant, intentional learning, hard work, and unfounded optimism had paid off! As always, my excitement was tempered by my sadness for ending the life of such an amazing animal. These deer are truly impressive animals.
My forensic analysis of the shot suggests that I pierced both lungs, just missing the heart. The broadhead stuck in the back side shoulder, which explains why I found my arrow shaft lying on the ground half way through the tracking process. Based on the amount and location of blood, the tracks, and the shot placement, it appears the deer sprinted downhill after being shot and died mid-stride about 8 seconds later after travelling about 120 yards. I couldn't be happier with the shot placement and quick, clean kill.
I quickly set to work butchering the animal, completely deboning the meat in the field so I could pack it out in a single, heavy load. I estimate my pack weighed about 110 pounds as I hiked the roughly 2 miles and 800 vertical feet up to my truck and camp. I took it slowly and enjoyed every minute of it, making it back to my truck just before dark.
It's hard to imagine a more full-value hunt. I had several close encounters, many learning experiences, and it took four of the four-and-a-half days I had to hunt. I was also fortunate enough to harvest one of the largest bucks I saw during my hunt, and I must admit, the velvet on the antlers is pretty cool.
